


Welcome Princes of Hell

by brodylover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Demons, Hell, Hurt/Comfort, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brodylover/pseuds/brodylover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Towards the end of Season 4. Castiel and Jimmy have been dragged to Hell and it's up to Dean to save him. But can he fight what he had become the last time he was in Hell? Or will he fall when Cas needs him most?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Princes of Hell

It had been a long time since he'd been in Hell and it was not something that he had ever planned on doing again. Rescuing that human, that weak pathetic Winchester boy, was the only time he had ever wished to be there.   
With a demonic hand on each shoulder, they dragged Castiel down the hallway, his overcoat, suit, and skin all melting into one another and combusting in the intense heat. He couldn't keep from screaming as he was now tied to his vessel and everything that Jimmy could feel, he could feel as well.   
The corridor was on fire and there were sharp metal spikes, like rusted over fishing hooks stemming from the floor and they would catch and rip at his legs as they were dragged over them, rendering them useless, just as the angel had been by his quickly fading grace.   
It wasn't the torture that scared him, or the heat, or the information they would try to get out of him that scared him the most. He knew what they would ask and he had no answers for them. He had been out of the loop for too long to know the plans of his garrison. They would never stop torturing him, never stop healing him so they could start again, because they would never believe that he didn't know what they were planning. No, that wasn't scary, not really.   
What scared him most of all was the fact that he knew no one would be coming for him. He had rebelled, no one in his garrison would come for him and he couldn't depend on the humans to even attempt a rescue. The Winchesters had no idea how to even get into Hell without dying and even if they did there was no way that they would even try. They only sacrificed themselves for family and while he had heard Bobby say almost a dozen times that family doesn't end with blood, he also knew that the Winchesters were not his family. Family was the way that they looked to one another, needed each other both physically and emotionally. It was in the way they had to save each other.  
Castiel had always been on the outside. He was more of a tool to the elder one than a friend. Sam seemed to want to be Castiel's friend more but he was broken and Castiel couldn't find it in himself to look around his demonic flaws.   
No, he would be left to rot in Hell.  
\-----------------  
Dean paced, his large green eyes glancing all over the place. Sam was on his computer doing as much research as he could and Bobby had made as many calls as he could, but they had found nothing. He whipped out his own cell phone and made the call again. He listens to the common ring tone; the one that Cas's phone had come with and hoped to hear the angel's gruff voice. Instead there was a loud beeping as if the line was busy, but that cut out shortly to the sound of broken up and staticy moans and screams.   
Dean hung up and tossed the phone onto Bobby's couch. At least none of the voices were Cas's.  
"Anything?" Sam asked as he looked away from his computer, his eyebrows raised.   
Dean shook his head and collapsed onto the couch beside the phone. They needed Cas's help. There were some crop circles that had popped up in Texas and they looked to be Enochian. They needed him to translate. He was always pretty good at answering his phone though, unless he was dying or drinking. It always worried Dean when he didn't answer and what he heard on the other side terrified him.   
"We could always try Crowley." Bobby offered for possibly the eleventh time.   
"For the last time," Dean rolled his eyes, "We're not going to get tangled up with your new boyfriend."  
Bobby glared at him, "He's not my boyfriend. He's good at finding people, that's all. He found Death, easily. He should be able to find Castiel too."  
"Fine." Dean gritted his teeth but grabbed his phone.  
He didn't need to make the call though, as Crowley was already in the room, a cardboard cup of something from Starbuck's in his hand. His face had a crinkled disgusted look on it.  
"You call this tea?" he growled, and if you listened very closely it was more of a rattle snakes rattling than a growl, before pouring the whole thing down the sink.  
"Why are you here?" Dean asked, his voice raspy.  
"Well, you were about to call, weren't you? You need me for something."  
"So you're still tracking us?"   
"Why wouldn't I? If something going down and I think I can help, of course I'll try to pop on in."  
The two stared at each other for a while, Dean with no expression on his face other than menace and Crowley with a pleased smile to his lips.   
"Where's your angel?" Crowley inquired, his thick eyebrows rising, "That's what you want to ask, right?"  
Dean's eyes fell to the floor.  
"I see. Well, let me take a look." And with that Crowley vanished.   
\-------  
Drip. Drip. Cut. Drip. Burn. Drip. Drip. Scream. Drip. Break. Drip. Burn. Drip. Freeze. Drip. Drip. Drip. Rip. Drip. Peel. Drip. Gauge. Drip. Drip. Burn. Drip.   
Darkness.  
\--------  
It was a couple of hours until Crowley returned and there was a nice groove in the hardwood floor from Dean's pacing. Sam had given his hypocritical speech on why they shouldn't trust Crowley a few times while waiting and Bobby had gone out to town to purchase some real tea, mentioning that he actually drank it as well and Crowley just reminded him how long it had been. That didn't explain why he poured an extra cup though, which Crowley snatched as soon as he'd set it down.   
His suit was crinkled and his tie was wrinkled and everything about screamed of exhaustion. He drained the tea and immediately poured himself another before flopping into one of the old leather armchairs.   
All six human eyes were on him.   
"Well?" Dean snapped.  
Crowley glared at him for only a moment before he took the china cup from his lips, "I asked around, asked every contact I have that still has the guts to talk to me and a few who don't. All of the stories line true, but you're not going to like it. Not one bit."  
Dean's eyes fell once more and he seemed to collapse upon his own weight, "He's dead."  
"No." Crowley took another sip, "Worse. He's in Hell."  
The men's stares intensified and Crowley began to get uncomfortable, "Don't take it out on me, boys, I'm just the messenger."  
"Okay." Dean whispered, "How do I get down there?"  
\-------  
Darkness. Bliss at the end of the day. Castiel could feel his bones fuse back together, the air filling the pierced lungs, the skin growing back over peeled muscle, and burns cooling and fading away. Only a few hours had passed but it felt like months already.   
Who was it then? Who had taken him to Hell? Who in the garrison had followed Zachariah's orders or whoever was above him. It was obvious that the demons hadn't just found him, they couldn't, not with the seal he had put on his own ribs. He had to have been sold out. Was it Lyrael, Casseron, Mariss? He didn't know.   
Jimmy.  
He'd promised Jimmy that everything would be okay, no harm would come to him or to his family. Now the man's body was being tortured and he was conscious, he was in there with Castiel and he could feel every slice carved into his flesh. Castiel wasn't alone, their voices echoed together in the agonies of Hell.   
There were tears in his eyes but he didn't know who they belonged to.   
\------  
"You can't do this." Sam gaped, following Dean out of the Impala, "You can't go back to Hell?"  
"And why not?" Dean shouted, his face like a rock, his strong jaw unmoving.  
"You've been once," Sam explained, his forehead knotted in the troubled way it so often was, "it did things to you, changed you. I never really got my brother back. If you go again, I don't know, you might lapse or they'll take you too."  
"They won't." Dean argued and lifted up his shirt. There was a spell written on his chest the letters black and Enochian.  
"Is that Sharpie?" Sam asked, incredulous.  
"It makes it so demons sizzle up when they touch you. They can smell the spell on you though."  
"But why does it have to be you? I could do this."  
Dean sighed, "I know my way around Hell a bit, alright? I'll be able to find him a lot faster. "  
"You boys ready or are we going to stand around here all night?" came a snarky English voice from behind them. They turned and saw Crowley, only a few yards off, his suit and tie in a much better condition.  
"Let's do this." Dean rasped.  
\------  
Drip. Drip. Drip. Pierce. Drip. Gut. Drip. Rip. Drip. Drip. Slice. Drip. Burn. Drip. Gauge. Drip. Splinter. Drip. Prod. Drip. Burn. Drip. Drip. Choke. Drip. Gash. Drip. Tear. Drip.  
\-----  
Hell looked the same but then, maybe it never changed. Maybe that was a part of Hell. Maybe that was what made it so unbearable, the fact that it will never end.   
Dean walked along the corridor, watching where he stepped as he knew that the spikes would claw through his shoes and into his feet. He hardly paid attention to the ugliness around him, the demons that smiled at him as he passed. He attempted to ask if he was going the right way a few times, but he was only answered with snickering.   
Soon a great shadow fell over him, but it was that of Alistair. No, he was long dead. This was someone much younger, but he was another student of the same demon. Dean knew him well, having been one of his exam questions and more importantly, his coworker.   
Nergal smiled at him and asked him one simple question.  
"Do you want to play with angels?"  
\------  
Darkness.  
Then the lights switched on and Castiel opened his eyes, knowing what was soon to come. He was suspended, a mockery to his faith and to his species, burnt black feathers hanging around him to make a mess of wings behind his shoulder, his pose that of the crucifixion. He was not on any cross though, but hanging in the air, meat hooks having been shoved through his back and smaller, finer fishing hooks through his arms. Jimmy's weight pulled against them all painfully but the demons just laughed as they ripped through the mortal flesh.   
It wasn't often that they had a body to torture as well as a soul.  
He looked to see his torturers for the day. His body could take a lot more than the average soul and they had decided to switch up who it was who would do the maiming almost every day, or what felt like a day.   
There was only one demon that day though and it looked much more human than Castiel had grown accustomed to.   
No. This was too much. They had ripped him apart and sewn him back together, conscious the whole time. They had slit his abdomen and slowly pulled out his intestines. This was much too much though. There was no way he could handle this.  
"Dean?" His raspy voice coughed out.   
The small man, the vessel of Michael, with all of his strength and planning, looked up at Castiel with black eyes.  
As Dean lifted a tool, a large hammer, and a handful of nails, the angel began to weep, not from pain or fear, but at the loss of the man he had rebelled for. At this moment, everything he had done was a waste. There was no point in what he had done to himself.   
Dean placed a nail against Castiel's thigh, putting the rest between his teeth, and began to swing with the hammer.  
Drip. Drip. Drip. Another nail, this one higher up. Drip. Drip. Drip. Another. Drip. Drip. Drip. Another. Drip. Drip. Drip.   
Demons know how to torture, but humans have a much more broad imagination.  
Next came the angels face and Dean beat it in, bashing the hammer down into the soft flesh, the teeth, and the bone. When it was no more than a weeping mess, he grabbed the angel by what was left of its jaw and pulled, ripping the hooks out of the sensitive flesh. All of the while he stared into what remained of one electric blue eye.   
The angel dropped to the ground, squirming in agony. But what was once Dean was not yet done. He reached back to the table of toys and pulled out a nice long knife. It was time to carve Castiel into something new.   
Somehow, the faceless angel found Dean's leg and clutched at it with all of his might. There wasn't much might left though. The thing was blubbing but every once in a while a recognizable word came through. Dean ignored it though and got to work, slicing into the once strong back and carving out organs, laying them nicely at the angels side, still barely attached.   
In Hell you do not fall unconscious until you are told to, so Castiel was still awake, him and Jimmy, and could feel every single thing that Dean did. But he never stopped blubbing, the words mangled by his lack of a face his teeth beaten out of their gums, his tongue swollen until it filled his mouth. He just kept repeating the same thing, over and over, hoping the words would get through.   
Dean peeled Castiel's fingers from his pant legs and flipped him over, starting the autopsy on his front. Before he could begin though, Castiel's hand grabbed his. With the last of the angel's strength he pulled down, forcing the Winchester's ear to his mouth.   
He repeated the same thing he'd been saying all along, "Dean… What about… Sammy…"  
Dean stared at him, his eyes clear, "Cas?" he asked through his teeth, almost in a panic.   
He touched what was left of the angel's face, trying to comfort him as best he could, "I… I came to recue you." He muttered through the tears that were running down his blood splattered cheeks, "Oh God, Cas, I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry."  
Castiel reached but was so blind that he could not see where his hand was leading. Dean took it in his and pressed it against his cheek. The hands were going to be next, he knew that.  
"Why… did you… come for me?" Castiel coughed.  
"I had to." Dean lifted what was left of the angel's head and placed it in his lap, rocking him slightly, "I couldn't just leave you here."  
"You… could have…" Castiel murmured, "I know… you don't see… me… the same way… you see… Sam… I'm…not impor… tant… I'm not… family…"  
"What?" Dean's voice cracked, "Of course you're important. Family doesn't end with blood and you… you are so family."  
Castiel's hand gripped Dean's tightly. It had been so long since he'd been part of a family. He never thought he's feel that connection again. There was a chance that Dean was saying it just to help him through this, that none of it was real, but Castiel pushed that thought from his mind. He had to hope.  
Dean lifted him up in his strong arms, doing his best to hold onto his kidneys.   
"Will you be okay? Can you heal yourself?" he asked, the worry strong in his throat.  
"Not fully." Castiel admitted, "It will take some time."  
"Okay… Okay… Well then, let's get you home."  
Home. That was an idea. Castiel pushed himself tightly against Dean's chest. He had no home but here this man was giving him one. Home was where his family was.  
Dean grabbed the necklace around his neck, one that Crowley had given him, and pulled, ripping the chain apart.   
He coughed and sputtered in the middle of the crossroads, sulfur coming off of him like golden dust. Castiel was still in his arms but he had fallen unconscious, his organs back where they belonged and most of his face back to where it should be. He was still drenched in blood and nude, his clothing having burnt off ages ago.  
Sam stood up, having been sitting on the Impala hood, "What happened?"  
Dean couldn't answer him at first, just passing him and laying Castiel down as softly as he could on the backseat of the Impala. If it were anyone else, anyone other than Castiel or Sam, there was no way he'd let them bleed on his interior. But Castiel was family and family doesn't care about blood stains.   
He got into the driver's seat, placing his hands on the wheel. Sam sat on the other side, watching him.  
"Dean." He persisted, "Tell me what happened."  
Dean ran a blood stained hand over his face, trying to wipe away his tears.   
"Look at me Sammy," his voice was shaking, "is this really what I am? I mean, this is Cas's blood. I… I couldn't help myself. I just… I wanted to hurt him so bad and I did. I… I tore his goddamn face off…"  
Sam put a hand on his brother's shoulder, "No. This isn't who you really are. You lost control, just like I do when I'm around demon blood. It's… it's an addiction and we just can't learn to say no."  
"There is something horribly wrong with us."  
"I know."


End file.
